


A Fresh Start

by Sci-fi-hero (FireGriffin)



Category: Gravity Falls, What Would Tesla Do
Genre: Bill-Possessed Ford, Ford's bad memories of Bill are erased, Gen, based on whatwouldteslado.tumblr.com, canon-divergence
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-08-09
Updated: 2018-08-25
Packaged: 2019-06-24 04:47:08
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 2,780
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15622866
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/FireGriffin/pseuds/Sci-fi-hero
Summary: The year is 1982. Stanford Pines knows his muse is a demon, and that he must be stopped at all costs.Today, there is a snowstorm. Ford blacks out at Greasy's Diner, giving Bill an opening to do something he's been planning ever since Fiddleford abandoned Ford and lost his mind.Somewhere, deep in the basement of the Gravity Falls Museum of History, there is a memory erasing gun.The year is 1982. Stanford Pines knows his muse is a miracle, and that his portal must be rebuilt at all costs.





	1. Chapter 1

Bill ran with his stupid flesh limbs stomping along on snow and ice. He knew how to pilot Ford a little better than most of his puppets, but he’d never had to go *running* in this puny human body.  
  
It wasn’t only that. Everything *hurt*. To a point, pain was hilarious, but on this level it was distracting. Every nerve in Ford’s body was screaming at him to stop.  
  
The car was parked a few feet away. The only reason he’d closed the door was to feel the crunch of it on Ford’s freakish fingertips. They still throbbed, and it helped him focus on operating the legs.  
  
Bill felt the feet giving out, and suddenly Sixer’s face was hitting concrete, sliding across ice. Something cracked, and Bill reached forward, wondering what had dug itself into the skin of Ford’s forehead.  
  
When he’d pushed himself up from the stairs, Bill took a look at what he’d grabbed: a pair of utterly shattered glasses.  
  
“YEET!” He exclaimed, throwing them with all of Ford’s strength.  
  
The world looked a lot less clear all of a sudden. Bill pressed a palm to Ford’s face, driving the stray shard of glass deeper into his forehead. The guy’s heartbeat was going haywire. For a man who’d studied the supernatural for more than six years, his body sure was weak.  
  
Bill steadied his legs, and kept running until he hit another obstacle.  
  
This time, it was another walking pile of nerves who tried to get in his way. She spoke gently, and even when she lifted her voice, she didn’t go beyond the front desk. “Sir… Sir! You have to pay!”  
  
Bill scoffed at her. Human beings were so weak. Physically, mentally, psychologically… sheep. They were all sheep. She didn’t even call for security, he noted with his extra-sensory powers, as he skidded around a corner in Ford’s mud-caked boots. She just sat down, phone already lifted back to her face.  
  
“HEY FIDDLES! FIIIIIIDDLES! FIDDLY-FORD!” He screamed. It scratched Sixer’s already dry throat, but he only screamed louder. “I HAVE MEMORIIIIES I WANT ERAAAASED!”  
  
The Society of the Blind Eye’s secret headquarters was stupid-easy to find. All he had to do was follow the swish of gaudy red coats — something he and Ford still agreed on, he thought with a smirk.  
  
“WOULDN’T YOU KNOW IT,” Bill shouted. “I MISSED THE MEETING! YOU AND ME, SIXER… WE’RE ALLLLL ALONE.”  
  
The memory-gun was simple to find, too. If there was one thing humans loved, it was putting their most prized possessions in fancy little boxes.  
  
Bill took it out of its case with uncharacteristic grace. “NOW, HOW DOES THIS THING WORK?”  
  
He already knew how it worked, after haunting Fiddsy’s dreams for so long, but there was no point in possessing a flesh puppet without making the tongue contort in your mouth at full-volume. That was one of the most fun parts!  
  
It was damp and quiet as he twisted the knob in the Gravity Falls Museum basement. Not a soul came to interrupt him, not even Stanley Pines, who did not know where to look. He felt the freak’s heartbeat throbbing and twisting with its own kind of terror — as well as with his own devilish excitement — as he put in the words “Bill Cipher”, aimed it at his own head, and fired.


	2. Chapter 2

Ford woke up to a fist in the face.  
  
“Ow!” He exclaimed, glaring at Stan indignantly.  
  
Stan’s face, which had until now been contorted with fear and rage, sagged with relief. “Ford! You’re okay!”  
  
“Of course I’m-“ Ford frowned. There was a fuzzy feeling in the back of his head. His eyes drifted down to the pair of crushed glasses in Stan’s other hand, and he reached out for them. _“What did you do to these?”_  
  
 _“Me?”_ Stan spluttered, taking a step back. “Bill’s the one that took you over! I had to punch ‘em outta you!”  
  
Ford felt his stomach clench. “Bill?”  
  
They were standing out in the snow, and the car was a few feet away. Stan’s breath seemed to catch in his throat for a second. “We can talk about it on the way back. You still got the keys?”  
  
Ford’s frown deepened. It felt like the world was a puzzle, and he was trying to cram two mismatched pieces together. It didn’t help that his eyesight was a patchwork of blurriness and jagged glass edges. “The way back? Where?”  
  
“To your house! Christ, Ford. What’d Bill do to you?”  
  
The silence filled his head like a living presence. He stumbled over his words, before latching on to, “…but we have to go to the record store.”  
  
Stan looked dumbfounded. “You’re bleeding in five different places. You really wanna borrow a record right now?”  
  
The throbbing in the back of his mind reached what felt like a climax, and suddenly his head was wracked with pain. Ford doubled over, fingers digging into his legs.  
  
“Ford!” Stan cried, rushing forward to help him up. “You okay?”  
  
“I’m fine,” Ford snapped, finally remembering to search his pockets for his keys. Where had he put them—? Or, no—not his keys, but Stan’s. The car was Stan’s car. He remembered that much.  
  
When he’d found the keys, he handed them to Stan, who offered a tight smile. “You okay to get in?”  
  
Ford nodded. “I don’t think the pain is—“ he gritted his teeth, inhaling sharply. “—I don’t think it’s severe.”  
  
When they pulled away, Stan said it again. He brought up Bill. “Yeesh, that demon sure doesn’t know how to drive. I followed the skid marks right to ‘ya.”  
  
Ford dug his fingers into the sides of his seat. “What demon?”  
  
You could hear a pin drop in the silence that followed.   
  
“Bill. The yellow guy. Y’know. The guy who’s been makin’ your life miserable all this time?”  
  
Ford shook his head. “I don’t… that’s not…”  
  
For some odd reason, he couldn’t seem to piece together any sentences.  
  
Stan tightened his grip on the steering wheel. “What happened in there?”  
  
Ford blinked. “In where?”  
  
“In the museum!” Stan snapped, before growing quiet. “Sorry, I dunno how it works… er, _do_ you remember what he does…?”  
  
Ford looked at him helplessly. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”  
  
They were almost back at the house. Trees zipped by; huge pine trees that filled the car with pine needle scent. Stan paused for a while before softly, gently, almost hesitantly asking his brother, “what’s the last thing you remember?”


	3. Chapter 3

If seeing your brother half-dead and completely crazy, aiming a stick at you while locked in a room of his own volition was bad, then seeing your brother at a loss for words when you asked him what he did in the last half hour was... not _quite_ that bad, but somehow also _worse._

Ford hadn't answered the question when they entered the clearing where his stupid fancy cabin was. He hadn't answered the question when they'd entered the house. And he sure as fuck wasn't answering the question right now, either.

Stan told himself to be patient, but there was something off about Stanford Pines. He wanted to grab him by the head and check his eyes for that flash of yellow, but he already knew that wasn't the issue.

The whole patience thing was made twelve times harder when Ford didn't even have the decency to sit down and _try_ to remember anything. As soon as they set foot in his enigmatic nerd cabin, he went running for the kitchen, muttering something about "fixing this".

 

Stan followed him in, deciding not to ask for the umpteenth time if he knew what Bill had done to fuck so badly with his head. It was probably the most generous decision of his life, considering what Ford said next.

 

"The toaster has to go."

 

Stanley wasn't sure whether to laugh or cry. "The _toaster_?" Was this about memes? Was Ford pulling some kind of prank? Did Ford even know how to pull pranks??

 

"Yes, that's what I just said." Ford was rummaging through the cupboards, throwing utensils unceremoniously onto the floor as he went. Stan _hoped_ he was looking for edible food. A can of beans, maybe. A slice of bread. But no. Of course it had to be some kind of drill that looked like it had walked straight out of a cheap 80's sci-fi film. Ford pressed a button and it whirred, making an ethereal sound like a cross between sunlight and baby laughter. With a satisfied nod, Ford set the drill(?) down on the counter and headed towards the toaster. "Bread is perfectly fine without being burned to a crisp. Besides, this thing is ancient. It could be a fire hazard." 

 

Stan crossed his arms over his chest, half confused and half indignant. "Half the stuff in this place is a fire hazard."

 

Ford threw the toaster on the ground. There was a distinct cracking sound from deep within it.

 

_That's it. Screw patience._ Stan grabbed Ford by the shoulder, pressing down like he could impress on Ford just how strangely he was acting by the sheer force of touch. 

 

Ford recoiled, brushing away his hand. And then finally, _finally,_ he stopped. It didn't matter if he was giving Stan a dubious look; he was _looking_. "Hmm?"

 

Stan rubbed the back of his neck. "Look, whatever nerd-rant you're goin' on right now... can't it wait? Why can'tcha tell me what's going on first, for once?"

 

Ford sighed deeply. For a split second, Stan was certain he was about to refuse. To brush him off a second time, like he'd done for the past 10+ years.

 

Instead, he opened his mouth to speak, and collapsed.


	4. Chapter 4

Yellow light enveloped Ford's vision. 

 

A discordant melody popped into his head, like eerie arpeggios running up an electronic keyboard. It was humming, he realized. Humming and _humming_ and _humming_ until the volume was louder and brighter than the searing light. 

 

Ford tried to move, to grip his head or clench his fists or _something_ , but found he couldn't. The humming swallowed every other thought. The massless light all around him grew impossibly brighter. 

 

Just when he thought he might die of sensory overload, the music halted. 

 

Then, in the silence, the sweet, sweet silence, a slitted pupil rolled into sight. _The eye of providence_. No, wait -- his heart skipped a beat, and he clamored into a more reverent position -- _his Muse_.

 

From the pupil, there came an eye, and from the eye came a triangular figure that _radiated_ angelic light.

 

"My muse," Ford whispered, not meeting Bill's eye. Not _worthy_ of meeting Bill's eye.

 

With a satisfying pop, the landscape dimmed to a more bearable level of brightness. 

 

"HAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA!"

 

The being grew as he laughed, creating a kaleidoscope pattern across what Ford remembered now was his own mindscape. Ford knew it wasn't so much laughter as it was a form of expression which ascended human comprehension. 

 

Admittedly, it was uncomfortable to witness such rambunctious screeching, but you couldn't be chosen by an omniscient being without being able to handle a couple of its quirks. God knew his muse had endured more than his fair share of Ford's own idiosyncrasies.

 

At last, the muse reigned in his chaotic radiance, and showed Ford his least impressive, but most easily understood form: A small triangle with a charming, if slightly ridiculous, top hat and cane.

 

"HIYA, SMART GUY!" The words reverberated a dozen times, growing almost deafening. 

 

"WHO-OA, SORRY ABOUT THAT! LEMME TURN DOWN THE REVERB!"

 

Ford rubbed his ears, wincing. "Thank you."

 

"DON'T MENTION IT!" Bill replied, tipping his hat politely. "I KEEP FORGETTING YOU THREE-DIMENSIONAL BEINGS CAN'T HEAR AT THOSE FREQUENCIES! ANNNNYWAY, HOW'S THAT BRAIN OF YOURS?"

 

Ford dared to meet the eye of his Muse, and felt a wave of peace wash over him. He was not a religious man, but he would be willing to bet his sixth fingers that this was what it felt like to worship a god. Minus the brainwashed-follower parts, of course. 

 

Ford smiled in spite of himself. "My brain? You mean my memories?" He tapped his chin with his index finger. "Mmm... there's definitely something off."

 

"Of COURSE SOMETHING'S OFF!" Bill zipped through his body, and for a split second Ford felt his heart leap into his throat. Fatigue. That was all. The fatigue was getting to him.

 

Bill summoned his cane with a held-out hand and jabbed Ford in the gut. "YOUR MIND'S BEEN ERASED!"

 

" _Erased?_ " But who...? With a jolt, Ford knew exactly who and what he was dealing with. " _Fiddleford!_ " 

 

"YEP! YOUUUU GUESSED IT!" Bill put an arm on Ford's shoulder, patting him on the back. "HEY HEY, DON'T LOOK SO DOWN! JUST BECAUSE YOUR BEST FRIEND AND BUSINESS PARTNER BETRAYED YOU AND HOPELESS DAMAGED YOUR FRIENDSHIP,  DOESN'T MEAN WE'VE GOT ALL DAY TO MOPE ABOUT IT!"

 

Oh God. He was right. Of _course_ he was right-

Ford swallowed. He had to sit down. His head was spinning a little. Bill, the only decent thing in the whole _multiverse_ it seemed, summoned an armchair, and Ford sank down into it.

He should have seen it coming sooner. He should have stopped Fiddleford in his tracks before he caused any more damage. Kindness? Mercy? It had brought him nothing but a disassembled portal and his own _memories_ missing. His own _fucking memories_. Fidds was his best friend. Sure, they'd had a falling out, but your own best friend, even an ex-best-friend wasn't supposed to- oh God. Why was he so stupid. Why was he so gullible? So easily convinced by someone who didn't turn up their nose at him instantly? It wasn't enough that he was a freak. He also had to be a _huge fucking idiot_.

 

With a steadying breath, Ford managed to keep it together. Hell, he was the _king_ of keeping it together. 

 

"Bill." His voice was a little unsteadier than he would have liked, but Bill knew what he was thinking anyway. It wasn't like he had to hide anything from him. "My apologies. Sometimes, I am so very... human."

 

"YEAH YEAH." Bill waved his hand dismissively. "WHAT A SHOCKER. YOU EVER TRIED SHOVING JALAPEÑOS IN YOUR EYES? THAT'S WHAT YOU SOUND LIKE RIGHT NOW."

 

Suddenly, the landscape shook, changing colors rapidly as hairline cracks formed here and there. 

 

"WO-OAH, WELL WOULD'JA LOOK AT THAT! STANLEY'S REAL DETERMINED TO WAKE YOU UP!" Bill flickered in and out, finally hitting his bowtie with his fist to stablize himself. "WHICH BRINGS ME TO THE REASON I'M HERE: **DON'T TRUST STANLEY PINES.** "

 

Bill's voice deepened into a terrifying guttural scream, like something satanic. Ford blinked. Or like a wrathful god. Yes, that was a better descriptor. 

 

"I'D LOVE TO GIVE YOU ALL THE DETAILS, BUT GOOD OLD STANLEY'S RUSHING US HERE, SO I'LL GIVE YOU THE SHORT VERSION." Bill flashed an irritated look heavenward as another tremor shook the mindscape. "YOUR JOB IS TO MAKE STAN THINK YOU BELIEVE HIS STORY! PRETEND YOU'VE SWALLOWED IT HOOK, LINE, AND SINKER. HE'S GONNA FEED YOU SOME PRETTY BIG WHOPPERS, TOO! ALL YOU'VE GOTTA DO IS PLAY ALONG WITH IT, NO MATTER WHAT YOU ACTUALLY REMEMBER. I GET IT, HE'S YOUR BROTHER! HE'S-"

 

Stanley's voice echoed distantly, and Ford knew he was on his way to waking up. _"Ford, c'mon! I just got you back! Stay with me, here!"  
_

Bill cleared his throat and tapped his cane on the ground. " _FOCUS_ , FORDSY! LIKE I WAS SAYING, ALL YOU GOTTA REMEMBER BEFORE YOU WAKE UP IS-" The mindscape started to fade out. 

 

Bill's voice sped up until his words overlapped, like a motorboat chugging out vibrations. As the mindscape dissolved into Stan's face and the kitchen floor, Ford heard the last of Bill's instructions ringing in his ears. "-WE'VE GOT A PORTAL TO REBUILD, AND IF STANLEY KNOWS YOU'RE REBUILDING IT, HE'LL DO EVERYTHING IN HIS POWER TO STOP IT! SO PRETEND TO EAT UP HIS LIES LIKE AN IDIOT, LET HIM THINK YOU HATE ME, LET HIM THINK YOU TRUST HIM, LET HIM THINK YOU WANT THE PORTAL DISMANTLED, KEEP HIM CLOSE, _LEARN HOW TO LIE, STANFORD PINES,_ AND **TRUST NO ONE**!"

 

As the last echo of Bill's screeched warning struck Ford's ears, he woke up. 

 

The tidbit about Fiddleford betraying him was already bringing the missing pieces back, like sweet, soft whispers from the Muse himself. He knew now, among several things, that he couldn't trust anyone with the truth besides Bill Cipher, that he had to lie to his own brother (not that being family meant much), and that he had to rebuild the portal at all costs, right under Stanley's nose.


End file.
